Last Goodbyes
by RinoaTifa
Summary: Set after the game has finished. A series of short character-based pieces focussed around each companion saying goodbye to their Grey Warden, a female Tabris.
1. The First Gathering

**Title: **Last Goodbyes

**Summary: **A series of short character-based pieces focussed around each companion saying goodbye to a female Tabris, their Grey Warden. Those who've read my other works know I love long speeches, so expect mostly dialogue and a fair bit of emotion. Just warning you.

**Author's Note: **One of my favourite sections in the game is when you're off on the final assault and all the NPCs come to say goodbye as I found it so very telling of each of their characters and how they'd changed over the course of the story. I wanted to write this because of a desire to explore how the Grey Warden's death would affect those around her and what their response to the tragedy would be. Much as I liked the final funeral scene (well, not liked, but found fitting), I would have preferred to hear the other characters speak, not just Anora/Alistair, so decided to give them their chance here. Some chapters will be brief, others long, hopefully all in keeping with the characters.

I'm going to shut up and get on with it now. Oh, expect the occasional bit of bad language and spoilers (obviously). And finally – please read and review.

**Author:** RinoaTifa

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dragon Age Origins. If I did, you wouldn't have to resort to sex with Morrigan to get a happy ending.

**The First Gathering**

Anora had always had a way with words. Whenever it had been required for Cailan to make a speech, it was inevitably her quill that was able to articulate what the nation had needed to hear. As such, when she stood on the raised platform in the palace's great hall, beside the body of the young city elf Emmeline Tabris, with the eyes of so many expectant citizens and friends upon her, Anora knew exactly what to say. The queen's eulogy was eloquent but heartfelt, formal but personalised, filled with meaningful sentiment rather than empty praise. She described the Grey Warden's bravery, her strength, her ability to inspire those who followed her, and with her words held each of those virtues up to the light like precious gems to be admired and emulated by all. In the saviour of Ferelden's name, Anora proclaimed the building of a monument, the redistribution of lands and the change in treatment of Alienage elves.

Alistair knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Emmeline would have hated every moment of it. It was all so… _planned_. To someone as impulsive as Emmie had been, nothing could be worse. A person's actions here, now, in the heat of the moment – that was what mattered to her. Well, what _had_ mattered to her.

Oh, he didn't doubt that she'd have approved of the Alienage being granted such new freedoms (frankly he rather suspected she'd have expected it after all the not-so-subtle references Emmeline had made to the treatment of her people when she'd agreed to back Anora as queen) and would have been overjoyed at the idea of her own dear father being made a bann, but doing it in front of an adoring crowd such as this? Delivering a speech so carefully planned that every punctuation mark had probably been agonised over? And as for a statue being built of her…

No. Not his Emmie. In fact, the more he listened to the Queen of Ferelden, the less he could recognise the woman he loved in her words. Certainly she'd possessed those qualities, performed those actions but that wasn't the sum of her. The essence of her, the true nature of what had made Emmeline the person that she was, was missing.

And so it was that when the funeral ceremony came to an end and the elf's body was taken away reverently by two guards, Alistair was not content to stand around and make chit-chat with the other attendees. He glanced around the space, taking in all those assembled. The crowd consisted of people from all walks of life – those who had known Emmeline personally, veterans of her army, noblemen, elves, dwarves, mages, templars – and yet her death had united them all, even if it was simply to mourn their saviour. Alistair couldn't help but feel savagely proud of his fallen love for having accomplished something so impossible even after her death.

After spending so much time with rogues and thieves, Alistair liked to think he had picked up a thing or two about stealth and subtlety. He had noticed, for example, that Emmeline's body had been taken into one of the side chambers, presumably to be kept until she could be transported back to the Alienage for burial. There had been a great deal of debate about where her final resting place should be, with many feeling the soon to be erected tomb at Weisshaupt would be most appropriate, or in the crypt of Denerim castle where many heroes had been laid to rest but her companions had come to the decision that her old home seemed most fitting. Two guards stood on duty outside the chamber and Alistair approached, ready to use all his guile and wit to sneak past them…

"Do you wish to see the Grey Warden's body, ser?" asked one as soon as they spotted him. "Go right on through."

Alistair blinked at the man in surprise before remembering that he was no longer some anonymous traveller having to talk or fight his way into places with his companions. They were all now known throughout Ferelden. By the Maker, he'd almost been made king – of course Denerim's guards knew who he was! Feeling himself begin to blush, Alistair mumbled his thanks and scurried through the door into a small corridor where—

"And what in the name of Andraste are you all doing here?" he exploded when confronted with the sight of each of his companions stood, sat or crouched in the passageway.

"I imagine the same thing as you are here to do, my friend," replied Zevran, his full lips quirked up in an amused smile.

Leliana stepped forward, placing one hand lightly on Alistair's arm. "We wished to come and say our goodbyes to the Warden. It seems only fitting for us to be able to do so, alone and in private, don't you think?"

Still a little shocked to find that not only had they all had the same idea but the others had managed to get there first (for the love of the Maker, even her dog had somehow beaten him to it), Alistair simply nodded. After all, they had all known Emmeline better than anyone else. Well, apart from probably her father. And Shianni. Possibly Soris too… Anyway, the point was that they were her friends and they had a right to see her one last time.

He licked his lips and looked round at the others expectantly. "Well? Who's going to go first then?"


	2. The Dwarf

**The Dwarf**

Oghren, who had been leaning heavily against one of the walls with a bottle of ale clasped in one hand, rocked onto his feet with a determined thud. "That'd be me, unless any of you nug-lickers have a problem with it."

Not waiting for a response, he marched over to the door on the far side - thrusting his bottle into Zevran's hands as he passed - and heaved it open before stepping within the chamber and slamming the heavy wooden frame closed behind him. The room was circular and entirely bare except for a small stone plinth in the centre on which the prone form of the Warden lay. The undertakers had put her in a dress of green velvet that had been specially made to accommodate the elf's small figure. Her hands were clasped over her stomach and her expression more serene than it had ever been in life. Oghren sniffed, moved to the far wall and leaned back against it.

"Never understood why they bother putting people in fancy clothes when they die," Oghren mumbled. "I say, let 'em go back to the Stone the way they arrived into this sodding world – butt-naked and covered in gunk!" He chortled, revelling in his own coarseness.

"You know," he continued, once the giggling had subsided, in a conversational tone. "When I first met you and your ragtag bunch, I thought I'd been addled out of my wits from all those years of drinking Orzammar's finest gutter ale. Some little Chantry boy, a big pile of rocks, a mage with her tits out and another one who should have got her tits out, some pansy Antivan elf, an overgrown pup and so on, all led by this elf girlie. And I looked at you stood there, and I thought, she don't look like much. What makes her so special?"

Oghren grunted, then laughed, a deep, dirty sound, dredged up from the depths of his throat. "Shows what I know! It wasn't until later, when we were there in the Deep Roads and you was there, covered in darkspawn blood, blades in hand, taking the filthy nug-runners out whenever they reared their ugly heads but still watching out for all of us, giving orders… And there they were, looking at you like you were their everything. They had that look in their eyes that some dwarves get when they talk about Paragons, this sense of awe, like looking at something so much greater than yourself that your mind can hardly hold it all in and…"

His eyes were wet now, shining with the emotion of his words, and the dwarf's voice fell to little more than a whisper. "And then I saw what you were. Really saw. And I knew that if I was going to die during this thing, I wanted it to be under your command. I wanted to die for your cause."

Raising one hand to tug at his beard, Oghren looked down, as though slightly embarrassed at having shared that out loud, even if only to a corpse. He cleared his throat, wiped his nose on his sleeve then announced, "You inspired us to want to be better than we were. Well, you inspired me, at any rate."

He moved to go, but just before reaching the door turned back and over his shoulder added gruffly, "You give 'em hell, Warden."


	3. The Elf

**The Elf**

As Oghren left the chamber, blowing his nose noisily on a handkerchief, the lithe, agile form of the elven assassin appeared by the door. "I believe it is my turn to speak," he said, flashing a roguish smile at his companions before disappearing into the side-room.

Surveying the form of his dead friend, Zevran let out a sad little sigh. "Ah, but you are still so very beautiful, even in death. It looks as though you are merely sleeping. Perhaps I should try and wake you with a kiss…"

The elf chuckled at that, moving round to stand beside where her head lay. "But I do not think Alistair would like that very much, no?"

There was a pause, and Zevran shuffled his weight from one foot to another, uncertain how to continue. He seemed to find it strange, speaking to the Grey Warden's dead frame and so he spun on his heel to face the back wall and spoke out instead, as though addressing some unseen audience. Zevran smiled to himself, already feeling more comfortable. He always did work better with an audience.

"My first meeting with dearest Emmeline was under… unconventional circumstances, so to speak. Yet from that first encounter I knew why those from her home had named her the Wildcat of the Alienage. She was beautiful, deadly, powerful – and, fortunately for me, an eminently practical woman. Few would have the foresight to spare their would be assassin in the hopes he would come in useful later, but straight away she knew her mind and would not be swayed.

"That is something I always admired about her," he added thoughtfully, crossing his arms. "Never a flicker of indecision. Always so sure of the correct course of action."

Before the gaze of the imaginary crowd that he was addressing, the Antivan's cocky smile faded, replaced by an uncharacteristically sombre expression. "But I was wrong. It was not practicality that spared my life but compassion. For, though she could be ruthless to her enemies, Emmeline never actually wanted to hurt anyone unless they had given her good reason. She knew when people deserved to be punished and when they deserved a chance to be saved – and there are many who were present today who could testify to that, no?"

Zevran arched one perfect eyebrow, imagining before him Jowan as he had been at the funeral ceremony: stood on his own at the back, shunned and alone but very much alive and free because of the actions of the late Grey Warden. The imaginary Jowan acknowledged his look and Zevran continued.

"In many ways, the lovely Emmie was the most moral of us all and for me, raised in a whorehouse and bought by assassins, seeing someone willingly go out of their way to help others for no other reason than it being the right thing to do… well, it was quite simply remarkable. I watched her, and I found myself wanting to behave the way she behaved.

"And it reached a point that whenever I found myself in a moral dilemma, I began to think, _what would Emmeline do?_ And straight away I would know the correct course of action to take." A humorous quirk of his lips brought back some of the elf's usual charm and he shrugged nonchalantly. "Admittedly I wouldn't always do it, but it was a step in the right direction nonetheless. But now, I… She spared me. My life belonged to her. All I have to do is keep following the example she gave me but already, without her here to guide me, it is becoming harder. I intend to keep trying, though. I…"

The elf looked down, his usually bright, dancing eyes obscured by shadow. He turned away from the crowd of mourners and well-wishers and the occasional scantily clad young maiden which he had been picturing before him and instead spoke to the prone form of his travelling companion, friend and saviour. "I only hope I do not let you down."


	4. The Mage

**The Mage**

As Zevran slipped gracefully through the door, Wynne stepped forward, resting one hand lightly on the elf's shoulder as she passed before taking his place within the chamber. Instead of speaking, she walked slowly over to the slab on which Emmeline's body lay, her weathered face softening into an expression of warmth and affection as she looked down at her friend. With one hand, she brushed a stray strand of brown hair off the young woman's face, her fingers then following the curve of her jaw down to rest beside Emmie's head. A small smile tugged at Wynne's mouth.

"This is a lovely colour on you," murmured Wynne, beginning to absently smooth out a crease on one sleeve of Emmeline's gown. "And you do look so lovely in a dress, dear. It's a shame there wasn't time for you to wear them more often."

She fussed with the material a little bit more, making sure it draped around the Grey Warden's frame just so, but eventually her hands ran out of tasks to occupy themselves with and they fell helplessly against the stone of the platform. Then, eyes firmly fixed on the form of her friend, she said softly, "You often teased me for lecturing you. You were a firm believer that it was possible to make one's point without wasting too many words, and so, in your honour, I promise that I shall keep this brief."

The mage tore her gaze away, looking upwards to the heavens. Her clear blue eyes shone as she spoke. "We had many conversations about the nature of death, you and I, which is unsurprising considering the predicaments we kept finding ourselves in. You did not fear it. _Death comes to all,_ you told me once_. It's how we go out that counts_. Well, you certainly found a way to make it count, and I am glad for that. And I pray to the Maker that, when my time comes, I will face death with simply a fraction of the dignity and courage that you showed, Emmeline Tabris."

With one last lingering glance at the prone body of her travelling companion, Wynne moved to leave the room. "There. I have said my piece. Goodbye, my friend. I have no doubt that I shall see you soon, though you'll forgive me for hoping it is not too soon."


	5. The Qunari

**The Qunari**

By this point, a hush had settled over those assembled, far greater than the quiet respect for the fallen that had kept the crowds at bay during the ceremony held by the Chantry and Anora's speech. It was the silence of those who have lost much more than an acquaintance or leader, a howling roar of a silence that filled the corridor with grief and unspoken thoughts and the feeling that everything was slightly off, in some hollow, intangible sense. It united them, in a strange way.

In the wake of the stillness that followed Wynne's return, as everyone waited to see who would go next, a single heavy sigh was heard. "I suppose it is my turn to speak," muttered Sten before, with another sigh, he rose to his feet and walked into the chamber. He stood to attention at the end of the platform on which she lay, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression on his dark features.

"The qunari have a tradition similar to this for those who have died with honour in service to the Qun. To us, they are known as qunaaranvel and we likewise hold a celebration for them after their death. It is a livelier affair than this, with much revelry and excitement. I find the reverence employed here far more fitting."

Sten's stony brow furrowed, and he seemed to be having difficulty deciding how to continue. He let out a groan of frustration. "I do not understand why this is so hard," he muttered to himself. "It is not as though the spirit is even within the body any longer, she cannot truly hear what I am saying, this whole affair is foolish and yet…"

He paused, and for a moment it appeared that this was all the strange, stoic man from another land was willing to say on the matter. But then he continued with a new resolve and energy to his words, as though having recognised that now he had committed himself to this path, he had no choice but to plough through to the end.

"When I came to these lands, I did not expect to find anyone worthy of the title of kadan. When I first met the Grey Warden, that is to say, you, I was under whelmed. You were small and female and your race rarely accomplishes anything of worth. Even the idea that you could be a warrior was simply preposterous," Sten added, waving one hand to exemplify just how ridiculous the very notion was but then his usual hardened expression changed, almost imperceptibly, into one that hinted of approval. "You surprised me. You returned my sword to me and in doing so gave me back myself; you brought together an army the likes of which have not been seen on these shores in hundreds of years; you proved yourself a true warrior and averted a Blight. And to accomplish this in a matter of mere months - a remarkable feat, to say the least. I am proud to call you kadan. Though you would have completed your quest sooner had we not been continually sidetracked by your insistence on completing utterly pointless endeavours," he grumbled.

The qunari's extraordinary eyes moved to where the Grey Warden lay. Seeing her there, exposed, unarmed and without her armour, seemed to make him uncomfortable. "This is a good death. Many of my people would say it is the best death. To die on the battlefield and sacrifice oneself in order to spare others is a death coveted by the warriors among the qunari. It is noble and courageous and honourable and yet… It is most strange. I find myself wishing that… there had been another way. That perhaps… you could not have..."

Sten stopped abruptly, clenching his hands into tight fists by his sides and bowing his head. "I believe that I wish to end this now. Farewell, kadan."

-

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the slight delay for this chapter. I had real difficulty getting in Sten's head, much as I love the big guy. Also, I'll probably have to edit it because even though I know from one of my endings that the qunari DO honour the dead in that way, I didn't have subtitles up so had to spell their version of 'hero' phonetically, making it almost definitely wrong, so sorry about that.


	6. The Bard

**The Bard**

Even as Sten's huge frame emerged, Leliana was already stepping through the door, moving quickly as though afraid that if she did not do so now then she would loose her nerve. When she had entered the chamber, the bard hesitated, twisting her hands and staring intently at the floor. Taking a deep breath, she looked up with a wry smile. "It is not usual for a bard to be lost for words."

She could imagine Emmeline laughing at that, and that seemed to give the Orlesian some degree of confidence, though her fingers continued to knot and unknot uncomfortably as she spoke. "I know many expect me to put write a ballad of our adventures and recite it one day before the court. An epic tale of friendship and love and courage in the face of the Blight. Perhaps one day I will but for now… for now it all seems… too fresh I suppose."

Managing a faint half smile, the bard continued in as light a tone as she could muster, "You know, it's funny. They'll want me to tell of a legendary, infallible hero like in the old stories but whenever I think of you all I can remember is the woman who worried about getting blood in her hair and got irrationally cross if anyone so much as touched one of her belongings and would laugh like a child if something tickled her just right and - and would sometimes buy us gifts for no reason other than that she knew we'd like them and who… who was my friend."

Her pretty face screwed up in anguish as the young woman fought back tears. "Words cannot bring you back. I can't bring you back. And it makes me wonder" – her voice cracked and the next words came out in a pained rush – "why would the Maker guide me to the dearest friend I have ever had just so that I could stand by and watch when she died?"

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Leliana pressed her hands to her face, trying so very, very hard to hold herself together. Her pale fingers shook as she wiped at her eyes but the rest of her remained strong, and once she had taken a moment to collect herself it was with a fierce certainty that she was able to push her hands behind her back and hold her head high. "But then I realise how blessed I was to have known you, even if only for the briefest of times, and how blessed I still am to possess the ability to make sure others can know you, through the tales I will tell of brave, beautiful, broken Emmeline Tabris, Wildcat of the Alienage, Fearless Grey Warden and Hero of Ferelden. The Maker has given me the power to make you live on forever through my words and perhaps that is why He sent me to your side: so that no-one would ever forget your sacrifice."

No longer with so much of a whisper of uncertainty apparent in her movements, Leliana leaned over and placed a delicate kiss on her friend's forehead. "I loved you very much, my friend. And when I am done, all the world shall feel that love."

As she skipped over to the door, Leliana threw a blinding smile back over her shoulder. "And by the way, you look stunning in that dress. I always said that green was your colour."


	7. The Golem

**The Golem**

"If the Sister is quite done with her dramatics, I have been waiting for my turn for some time," huffed Shale as Leliana came out, red-eyed but smiling. The Orlesian apologised profusely for being so long and assured Shale that if she wished to go now she was sure no-one would be opposed to the idea.

"I should think not," stated the golem with all the maturity of a petulant child, before stomping into the chamber. Once inside, she continued with her sulky demeanour, crossing her arms across her great stony chest and refusing to even look at the body before her.

"I am quite cross with it," she announced after a pause, apparently having decided that she'd given the Grey Warden's corpse the cold shoulder for long enough. "I specifically told it not to get killed when it went off to the castle, leaving _me_ behind, and what did it go and do? Why didn't it just let the annoying one with the big mouth who laughs constantly die instead? Why didn't it take me with it? I told it I wanted to go and perhaps with me there it might not have..."

Shale sighed, a deep rumbling sound. Finally dropping her angry posturing, the golem turned to look at the Grey Warden with something close to regret etched on her stony features. "I did not believe it possible for a golem to have a friend – or at least not one as squishy and breakable as it was - but it would seem I was wrong. And I believe that I shall actually miss it… you."


	8. The Hound

**The Hound**

"So, uh, I suppose it's my turn now then," stammered Alistair. He was so busy examining his own feet that he must have missed whatever silent signal Wynne gave the others and only became aware that they were all leaving when the elder mage brushed past him with a murmured, "We'll leave you two alone, then."

But before any of them could exit the cramped little corridor, a deep, low growl was heard and all turned to see the mabari hound by the door leading to Emmeline's resting place, hackles raised and snarling.

"What is that sodding dog getting so worked up for?" grumbled Oghren.

"I brought him here," Sten said calmly. "He has as much a right to say goodbye as any of us."

As if in response to Sten's words, the great beast pawed at the door behind it, letting out a low and needy whine.

"Oh, the poor thing! You don't mind him going before you, do you, Alistair?" Leliana asked, even as Sten moved forward to open the door for the hound.

"No, no, by all means," muttered Alistair. "Good to know my need to grieve ranks just below that of her pet dog. Thanks for clarifying that, everyone."

Despite the bitterness of his words, in all honesty the ex-Templar felt a little relieved at having an excuse to delay an experience he was already beginning to dread. And besides, he thought as the dog yipped happily and bounded into the room where his master lay, he never could say no to that overgrown pup…

The mabari did not take long. He loped over to the Grey Warden's side, placing his great paws up on the stone plinth and laying his head on her lap. Then, he howled. Yet it was more than that. The sound that erupted from the beast's throat was such an agonised keening that it left in its wake a stillness in the air of the chamber. The sense of loss seemed to linger, though it was not a morbid, depressing sensation that echoed around the chamber, but rather a sensation of a duty that has been completed, a love that will not be forgotten, and a dedication that will never fade.

And with that one, pure, undiluted sound of true mourning, the hound left his master's side for the last time.

-

**Author's Note:** Again, apologies for the delay but I have been planning ahead so hopefully the next few chapters will come out a little quicker. Thank you so much everyone who has reviewed this piece so far – it's very encouraging to know that someone else out there likes it!


	9. The Lover Part One

**The Lover Part One**

Alistair stood there, his back pressed against the cool wood of the door, with his eyes shut tight. The others had all left to rejoin the wake being held in the main hall. Without the comfort of their presence in the corridor outside, everything seemed to him so very… silent. Nothing but his breathing and… Nope, that was it. Just his breathing. He and she had been left entirely alone with nothing and no-one to disturb them and he had as long as he needed to say farewell to the woman he loved.

So why couldn't he open his eyes and just do it?

There was so much he wanted to tell her – no, that he needed to tell her. He'd been an idiot, leaving so many things unsaid, convinced they'd have all the time in the world once the Blight was over without ever really stopping to think what would happen if she died. Alistair knew it was stupid, considering the odds they'd been facing, but he had never really thought about the possibility of Emmeline dying until it had actually happened. He'd always just thought that, if one of them had to die, he'd be the one making the big showy sacrifice. Or else they'd both go out together in a blaze of glory. But her dying, and leaving him to carry on? No, that just wasn't right.

And so here he was, with all these things tumbling round and round in his head, all these words, all these ideas, practically screaming to get out into the air.

So why couldn't he do what he did best, open his eyes and talk for all of Ferelden?

He had no idea where to even begin. Everything he wanted to say seemed to have just clumped together to make some big, unintelligible clumpy… thing… which Alistair was fairly certain wouldn't even come out as words were he to open his mouth. How did she always do this to him? How was it that even in death she managed to make him into a gibbering wreck?

No, Alistair knew what he needed to do. He needed to just open his eyes and look at her, and then it would all come flooding out in a great big rush, just like it had at camp when he had given her the rose. And on the occasion when he'd told her that he loved her. And when he'd asked her to sleep with him. Maker, he really was making a habit of this nervous rambling speech thing, wasn't he? Might as well do what he always did then, just dive straight in, let the words come tumbling out and hope for the best.

So why – oh dear Maker, why - couldn't he look at her?

Slowly, hesitantly, Alistair pried his eyes open and looked down at the body in front of him. He looked at her delicate frame, her lightly tanned skin, her tawny coloured hair, her high cheekbones, her slanted eyes, her full lips, her pointed ears… He looked at the cold and lifeless body of his dead lover, the husk that both was and was not her, and…

"I-I can't do this."

… He left.


	10. The Witch

**Author's Note: **Yes, I am a terrible person to leave that last chapter on a cliff-hanger and then not post for so long and yes, I am an even worse person because this isn't the second part of Alistair's goodbye. But rest assured that his is the next chapter and it is nearly done, so please forgive me and enjoy this brief interlude in the mean time!

-

**The Witch**

As twilight fell, most of the mourners departed and the body of Emmeline Tabris was left to lie in the cold stone chamber until morning when it was to be moved to its final resting place. Queen Anora had declared that day a national day of mourning and so the guards patrolling the castle were volunteers only, a handful of men who saw it as their duty to defend the Grey Warden even now. Yet not one of them noticed as a small white wolf padded through the halls, down a side corridor and slipped into the room where Emmeline lay. It had three flowers held tightly in its mouth, and the first thing the wolf did was drop them, ever so carefully, at the feet of the Grey Warden before bowing its head, almost reverently.

The door to the chamber opened once more and, quick as a flash, the wolf retreated into the shadows of the far wall, masked by the fading light of day. If the new arrival noticed this, they gave no sign of it. Humming lightly to herself, Wynne simply stepped forward, picked up the flowers and smelled them deeply. "Mmm, white lilies. Her favourite, if I am not mistaken," she said in a conversational tone. She looked up and her sharp blue eyes seemed to pierce the darkness in which the room's other occupant had cloaked themselves. "It's good that you came, Morrigan."

There was a pause, then the young witch stepped out of the shadows, her expression entirely unreadable. "Yes, well, I certainly hope you don't expect me to burst into tears or beg your forgiveness for leaving when I did or anything else similarly pathetic and needy."

Wynne only smiled, placing the lilies carefully back where Morrigan had originally placed them. "Oh, I believe I know you a little better than to expect anything like that."

Morrigan's face twisted into a contemptuous sneer. She looked about to throw a scathing comment back at the elder mage, then seemed to think better of it and remained silent.

Choosing to not see this, Wynne continued to busy herself with the Grey Warden's body much as she had done earlier. Still on the other side of the chamber, Morrigan kept very still, arms folded.

"She would have wanted you here," Wynne commented in the same light, breezy tone she had employed earlier. "She was still your friend, you know. Even at the end."

"Then she was a fool," snapped Morrigan, her sharp yellow eyes flaring suddenly. "She rejected me when I tried to help her, and in recompense I left her on the eve of battle to die. Tell me, oh wise and all-knowing Wynne, which of us proved ourselves less deserving of the others friendship?"

Wynne looked up, meeting the witch's gaze, before saying evenly, "So that's why you left. I must confess, I am a little surprised. I did not believe your feelings so delicate that one little rebuff from the Warden would be enough to drive you away. You must have cared for her very deeply."

Morrigan flinched at the remark. "Hardly. I simply did not see the point in staying as companion to someone who clearly believed they were above any help I might have to offer."

The small smile on Wynne's face seemed to suggest that she believed otherwise, and the expression was enough to infuriate Morrigan. Her pretty features twisted into a fierce scowl as she waved her hand impatiently at the other woman. "Believe what you will. 'Tis of no consequence to me."

When the mage continued to do nothing but smile knowingly, Morrigan emitted a sigh of frustration and stormed towards the room's only exit. The gesture was as grand and dramatic as Wynne had come to expect from the fiery tempered Witch of the Wilds, but what she had not anticipated was the young woman stopping suddenly beside her, head bowed and gaze firmly fixed upon the floor. In an entirely different voice, one filled with pain and confusion, Morrigan whispered, "I – I simply do not understand why she wouldn't allow me to save her."

At that, Wynne chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure Emmeline had her reasons for turning you down. And I'm certain you know them too, though whether you'll admit it is another matter entirely."

She moved to take Morrigan's hand in her own but the witch pulled away, making to leave once more. This time, Wynne called after her. "Please – don't run off again just yet. Tonight we are gathering one final time, to say goodbye to her together. It would mean a great deal to us all if you came."

Morrigan paused in the doorway, half-turning her head to look back at Wynne. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "I do not think so. But... I thank you, for the offer."

She nodded once and the elder mage smiled benevolently back at her. Then, where a dark-haired woman had been but a moment before, a white wolf had appeared; and in the blink of an eye it too had vanished, back into the shadows of the dying day.


	11. The Lover Part Two

**The Lover Part Two**

"It's unlike you to be early."

The bard's amused tones served to shake Alistair from his reverie. He looked down guiltily at the mug of ale on the table in front of him and shrugged. "And there I was thinking you were all incredibly late. Must not have been paying attention when Wynne said what time we were all meeting for the final hoorah. Huh."

Leliana's fingers traced the lines on the table, following the intricate pattern of the woodwork. She had that impish, slightly smug look on her face whenever she knew something someone else didn't. Alistair groaned inwardly. There wasn't a chance he'd be getting any peace and quiet now.

"You were very quick, when you went to say goodbye," she said lightly. "We all thought you'd be hours but no, in and out in almost no time at all."

"Well, it's only one word. Goodbye. There, see how quickly I managed to say that? Easy. Frankly I was wondering what took the rest of you so long," Alistair remarked in as flippant a tone as he could muster. He took a long drink from his mug, still refusing to meet the cunning blue eyes of the young woman in front of him. Maybe she'd let it go. Maybe she'd just go away and leave him alone.

"You couldn't do it, could you? You just left."

Or maybe not.

How did she know? How did Leliana always know? It was uncanny. No, it was bloody annoying was what it was and there was no way he was going to fall for it and open up to her.

"No! Well, yes, I did but – it's none of your business what I say to my deceased lover, thank you very much," exploded Alistair, with far more venom than he'd originally intended. "And anyway I didn't ask what you lot said to her so what makes you think you can just come in here and make annoyingly accurate predictions all over the place?"

Leliana sat down opposite him at the little wooden table, clearly unfazed by his outburst. Ignoring everything he'd just said, she simply asked, "And why couldn't you talk to her?"

He thought about yelling at her again but since that had already failed quite abysmally Alistair decided to not even bother trying. Instead, he just sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. It... It didn't feel right, somehow."

Met with only Leliana's inquisitive stare, he tried to elaborate. "It's just... She's dead, alright? No one wants to use that word, even our lot who travelled with her - even you! - are avoiding using it, skirting round like you're all afraid of it or something but that is the truth: she died. She is dead. Dead dead dead. End of story. And the thing in that room – it isn't her. It's just this empty shell. It doesn't even look like her anymore, not really."

"Alistair," she said softly. "If I were to tell you that I was going to go back to the Chantry, what do you think Emmeline would say about it?"

Alistair's brow furrowed, not really understanding the relevance of the question. "Well, she'd try and stop you. She'd say that there are lots of other productive things for you to be doing out in the world and that the Maker already told you to leave there once, so what'd be the point in going back again? But, if that's what you really wanted, she'd have given you her blessing."

Leliana gave a satisfied nod, as though that was the answer she'd been looking for. "Exactly. You know that. Because you know her. You know her better than any of the rest of us ever did. So what if she cannot talk back? You know what she'd say to you anyway. There is still some time before our gathering," she added, her frank gaze preventing him from interjecting. "Go now and tell her how you feel. You don't have to talk to her body if you don't want to – just talk to _her_. Though her spirit may no longer inhabit that form, she's still here, with us, in a sense. If you speak to her I am certain she will listen."

**Author's Note:** This chapter was getting way too long, so I ended up turning Alistair's goodbye into a three parter. Final section of Alistair's coming soon; expect angst. Lots of angst.


	12. The Lover Part Three

**The Lover Part Three**

The room was colder now that night had fallen, with no fire to warm the stone flagstones. There was no light but for the smallest glimmer from the moon which shone through the window and onto her still frame. In a sense, Alistair preferred it like this. The way the semi-light glinted off her features reminded him of how she'd looked during their conversations together back at camp, when they had lay together on the grass and stared up at the heavens and marvelled at how very small they both were.

He stood there, looking down at her pale, lifeless form, and realised this was a mistake. Nothing had changed. He was still just trying to talk to a corpse. Sharing his inner most feelings with a lump of decaying meat – what a wonderful plan that was! With a sigh of frustration, Alistair turned his back on the body and sat on the cold, hard floor, his back pressed against the plinth on which she lay and his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. Somehow it was easier, this way. The moments passed and Alistair found himself able to imagine her sat opposite him, knees tucked up under her chin, giving him that fantastic half-smile she always used when he had come to speak to her about something.

"_What do you need, Tiger?"_ his imaginary Emmeline asked and he found himself smiling, just a little, tiny bit.

"You always said that," he murmured, tilting his head to one side fondly. "Whenever I wanted to speak to you, we'd go through the same little routine. You'd say that, and then I'd say _have you got a moment_? And you'd reply—"

"_For you, Tiger? Always."_

Alistair nodded, his smile growing ever so slightly. "It was like our own private little ritual. I used to think that even in twenty years we might still be saying those same words to each other and I just knew that no matter how much time had passed they'd still give me that same little thrill but…"

He sighed heavily. The Emmeline sat against the wall said nothing, simply cocking her head to one side and surveying him with those bright, intelligent eyes that saw so much more than most people realised.

"You're a remarkable woman, you know that?" Alistair said suddenly. "I should have told you that when I had the chance. From the moment I met you I knew that you were special. Well, no, actually I didn't – to be honest, I thought you were a bit proud and intimidating and you sort of scared me just a little bit, but it didn't take me long to work out that you were important. You just _understand_ people in a way no one else can. You have a way of finding out what they need and then giving it to them, like Sten with his sword or Wynne with her closure or Morrigan with whatever dark, twisty reason she wanted her mother dead for and..."

"And you knew what I needed. You knew when I couldn't face leading the team and when I wanted to talk about Duncan and when I fell in love with you. You even loved me back. I don't really understand why but you did and – and is it awful that in the middle of a Blight I was happier than I've ever been in my whole life? I mean ridiculously, stupidly happy, the kind of happy that can't ever last though for some idiotic, naive reason I was convinced it would."

She was smiling now, not the dead body behind him but the woman who lived on in his mind's eye, the warm, lively expression lighting up her features. When Alistair had first met Emmeline, he'd thought of her as striking. Attractive, though unconventionally so. Then she'd smiled and he'd wondered how he had failed to realise straight away how truly beautiful she was.

His own expression turned sad, clouded with a thought that had been slowly formulating in his mind but which he'd never dared to voice aloud before. "But you always knew, didn't you? You knew that this was doomed. Whether it was me becoming king, the Blight or something else, you knew we wouldn't be together for long."

"_A regular pair of star-crossed lovers,"_ mused the imaginary Emmie, keeping her tone light to try and shake off the seriousness of what he was saying. Yes, that was just like her. _"Leliana should write a ballad about us."_

More than happy to play along, he adopted a faux-serious expression and wagged one finger at her sternly. "Oi. It's my job to be irreverent and sarcastic, not yours. The two of us behave like that and Ferelden may be swallowed up in a black hole of glibness."

Emmie gave a mocking salute. _"If you say so. You know I love it when you take charge."_

Despite himself, Alistair laughed. "You know, I always thought I was the one keeping everything light and fluffy, keeping you laughing even in the face of the Blight but there was more than one time that the darkness would have swallowed me up whole if it wasn't for you pulling me back."

"_But I could never have been like that if you hadn't taught me how,"_ his Emmeline reminded him gently._ "Remember how I was when we first met?"_

Alistair chuckled. "Oh, you were more serious than the revered mother herself! I know you'd had a hard life and just been through a pretty traumatic experience and everything but when we started off I couldn't help but think that if you didn't lighten up this was going to be a verrrrrry long quest indeed."

"_But lighten up I did,"_ she said with a smile, hugging her knees in close. _"Thanks to you. I changed."_

"We all did." Alistair ran a hand through his hair, steeling himself for what he had to say next. But he knew there was no point doing this by half – if he was going to tell a memory how he felt about her, he would tell her everything. "Part of me hates you, you know. Because you wouldn't let me come with you. You left me behind at the castle gates. I would have died for you a thousand times over and you knew that but you had to go and be the hero and sacrifice yourself and leave me all alone."

"_Alistair..."_ began Emmie, her green eyes sparkling with concern. She moved towards him, trying to embrace him, but Alistair shook her off.

"Don't _Alistair_ me! You're not even real, you aren't even here, you're there, you are lying there, dead and lifeless on a slab of rock and I'm still here!" He was screaming now, yelling at a dead woman, and tears were coursing down his cheeks. Even as he tried to half-heartedly fend her off, Emmeline slipped through his defences. Her arms wrapped around him and he leaned into her, the fight going out of him as his frame sagged against hers and they fell together onto the cold stone.

"You left me all alone," he choked out thickly.

"_I know, I know,"_ she whispered softly, soothingly, as she held him close. _"I'm so sorry, my love. I couldn't face the idea of you dying. All those people out there – they think I'm a hero who made some great ultimate sacrifice but the truth is I knew I wouldn't be able to carry on without you and so I – I took the coward's way out. I died so that I'd never have to live without you. I'm sorry."_

"It's not fair," he said in a dull, broken voice. "We did so much. We saved Ferelden. We ended the Blight. Why couldn't we be together, just for a little bit longer? Didn't we deserve that?"

"_Duty doesn't always mean getting what you deserve. We found each other. That's better than nothing."_

"We could have been so incredible together," Alistair whispered.

Beside him, the spirit of Emmeline Tabris laughed. _"Oh, my darling. We were."_

He turned to look at her but she pressed her fingers over his eyelids and then kissed him on the lips. He felt the kiss, soft and cool and delicate as a snowflake, and eyes still closed he whispered, "I love you. Always."

When he opened them again he was alone but for the body of the only woman he had ever loved.

**Author's Note: **And there you go, Alistair's goodbye has been said! I hope it was worth the wait. As always, all feedback is hugely appreciated.


End file.
